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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969368">From the Sand, From the Ranks, From the Sky</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksherambles/pseuds/kaidariel'>kaidariel (ksherambles)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Remixes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(without permission of course), Abandonment Issues, Anxiety, Author Is Sleep Deprived, BAMF Leia Organa, Canon Compliant - Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Finn is afraid and that's okay, Force-Sensitive Finn (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Leia Organa, Former Gifted Kid Poe Dameron, Grand Rewrite and Plot Fixing Adventure, Mass Canon Welding, Movie: Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Poe Dameron's Jacket, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, Self-Esteem Issues, The Force, YOU get a narrative foil and YOU get a narrative foil and YOU get a narrative foil..., do not copy to another site, oversized jackets feel like being loved, stormtrooper feelings, what if I took the film &amp; the script &amp; the novel &amp; stuck them in a blender?, what if we had a series bible all along?, you know what star wars needs? More diversity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:41:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksherambles/pseuds/kaidariel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A star map to a missing Jedi.<br/>A scavenger with mysterious origins.<br/>A soldier who refused to fire.<br/>A dashing pilot, born of heroes<br/>And a phantom menace, born out of the embers of the Alliance's victory...</p><p>Basically, what if the Sequel Trilogy had, uh...known where it was going all along. A labor of love and canon welding.</p><p>This chapter:</p><p>“Wow,” Poe said aloud. “There has got to be over thirty different kinds of vessel down there. What a time capsule.”<br/>BB-8 beeped at him.<br/>Poe laughed. “Probably not. Anything worth salvaging is long gone."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>BB-8 &amp; Poe Dameron, Background Leia Organa/Han Solo, Finn &amp; Rey (Star Wars), Leia Organa &amp; Rey, Poe Dameron &amp; Finn, Poe Dameron &amp; Leia Organa, Poe Dameron &amp; Rey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Remixes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>From the Sand, From the Ranks, From the Sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't own Star Wars</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Luke Skywalker has vanished.</strong><br/>
<strong>In his absence, the sinister</strong><br/>
<strong>FIRST ORDER has risen from</strong><br/>
<strong>the ashes of the Empire and will not rest until</strong><br/>
<strong>Skywalker, the last Jedi, </strong><br/>
<strong>has been destroyed.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>With the support of the REPUBLIC,</strong><br/>
<strong>General Leia Organa</strong><br/>
<strong>leads a brave RESISTANCE.</strong><br/>
<strong>She is desperate to find her </strong><br/>
<strong>brother Luke and gain his</strong><br/>
<strong>help in restoring peace and justice to the galaxy.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Leia has sent her most daring</strong><br/>
<strong>pilot on a secret mission</strong><br/>
<strong>to Jakku, where an old ally</strong><br/>
<strong>has discovered a clue to Luke's whereabouts....</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>A single fighter plane adjusted its landing trajectory towards the night side of Jakku. Its pilot, one Poe Dameron, had done this maneuver countless times before, and so he let his eyes wander, and not just because he didn’t want to be followed. The shadowy features that broke the vast surface of the desert planet weren’t mountain ranges or oases: they were crashed ships and lighting-glass where lasers had slagged the surface; the crumbling remains of Imperial cruisers and the more eclectic wrecks of Alliance ships of nearly 30 years ago. The Battle of Jakku was the official end of the Galactic Empire, a year after its crushing defeat at Endor. Thankfully, there hadn’t been much in the way of life on Jakku to destroy.</p><p>“Wow,” Poe said aloud. “There has got to be over thirty different kinds of vessel down there. What a time capsule.”</p><p>BB-8, the round, orange and white astromech droid installed in its cradle in the back of the X-Wing, beeped at him</p><p>Poe laughed. “Probably not. Anything worth salvaging is probably long gone. Scavenging is big business, on a world like this.”</p><p>BB-8 whistled. “Tell you what, I’ll see if I can’t get <em>Black One</em> authorized for an inspection, then you can go to town on those upgrades. What were you thinking, those new in-atmosphere thrusters?”</p><p>Still chatting, they continued towards their landing site. If Leia was right, what they were here for could end the conflict with the First Order before it embroiled the whole galaxy in a second war.</p>
<hr/><p>The Star Destroyer <em>Finalizer</em> hadn’t yet off-gassed its new ship smell. Forged and assembled in the distant orbital factories of the First Order, constructed in secret and uninfected (so its builders said) by the <em>virus</em> that was the New Republic, it was more powerful and more technologically advanced than anything that had come before.</p><p>The four transport ships, almost invisible as they dropped from a port in the side of the <em>Finalizer</em>, had not been passionately refined and re-designed like their mother ship. They didn’t need to be: their function was straightforward and brutally simple.</p><p>On board the dimly lit ships, eighty white-armored troopers prepared for touchdown like soldiers everywhere from the dawn of time –wisecracks and speculation about the mission, the occasional whack on the arm. Adrenaline was high. They knew each other well. They had been trained to be what they were from childhood. They could cope with anything the minor world they were descending to could throw at them.</p><p>Squad leaders barked commands. Weapons were armed, checked, and rechecked. The specialized flame troopers made sure their packs were loaded and primed. Each trooper checked a neighbor's armor, ensuring joints were sealed and panels tight. FN-2187 finished snapping a joint on FN-2003’s armor. He should never have made it out of barracks like that.</p><p>“You’re good, Slip,” said FN-2187.</p><p>“You’re not supposed to be helping me, Eight-Seven,” said 2003 –Slip –shortly.</p><p>FN-2187 looked away, face was invisible behind the white stormtrooper helmet. Slip was one of his three cohort-mates. They had grown up together, been assigned the same meals, the same bunks, the same training schedule, and, finally, the same unit. He could pick Slip and Zeros and Nines out of a parade with his eyes closed. But that didn’t matter. It wasn’t <em>orders</em>, exactly, but a very strong suggestion from Captain Phasma, which was almost the same thing:<em> Stop coddling him</em>. The trooper who <em>fell</em> behind needed to be <em>left</em> behind. FN-2187’s unwillingness to do so was the one thing holding him back from an early promotion.</p><p>It had not been a private conversation. Nothing stormtroopers did was.</p><p>The silence after the final adjustments were made was replaced by a deep rumbling, punctuated by jolts and bangs as the four craft entered Jakku’s atmosphere. Someone was struck soundly on the helmet after a particularly crude joke.</p><p>An automated electronic voice sounded the “prepare for landing” warning, and hands tightened on weapons. They were ready.</p>
<hr/><p>Poe pulled his favorite flight jacket closer against the nighttime chill. In the desert, the temperature dropped fast: little fires already dotted the village, radiators had kicked on, and many people had closed tent flaps and doors to keep the heat in. The sky was still clear. That was good: Leia trusted him to get in and out of here relatively quickly. But his X-Wing’s glossy black paint job could be identified from a distance, and he didn’t have any sort of stealth gear with him. If the First Order somehow got eyes on him, or someone tipped them off...</p><p>“A little different from Yavin IV, isn’t it?” said Lor San Tekka pleasantly, coming up behind him.</p><p>Poe turned. “How did you know that was where I was from?”</p><p>“You have a look of a green world about you. It says ‘how do people choose to live in such a lifeless place?’” The old man smiled, and the wrinkles on his face deepened. “There is life here as there is life everywhere, if you learn the desert’s secrets.”</p><p>Poe’s expression turned politely disbelieving, which didn’t suit him. Black Squadron liked to say he had “Resting Hero Face.” Dubious became mulish on a face like that. Confident became cocksure, and earnest was kriffing devastating. “The General should put you on recruitment posters, Dameron,” Pava had said, tugging on one of his dark curls. Poe had blushed, which was probably why the teasing had continued, never mind that he outranked most of the culprits. Poe didn’t stand on ceremony.</p><p>“Yavin IV, though?”</p><p>Tekka laughed like the desert, dry and warm. “You look like your folks, Dameron. How is Kes?”</p><p>Poe smiled easily, pleased that he could smile instead of fighting down the anxious notion that someone was comparing him to his parents, and finding him wanting. Lor San Tekka had a presence about him, both calming and firm, and it had Poe on his best behavior.</p><p>Or maybe Poe himself had grown. It bothered him less, nowadays. Or not less, but less often.</p><p>Poe let himself feel the weight of the flight jacket, and let the old man usher him into his tent. “Oh, he’s keeping himself busy on the farm, though he’s getting worried. If the General doesn’t reach out to him soon, I think he might try to air out the old Alliance base all by himself, just in case.”</p><p>“That sounds like the man I knew.” Tekka groaned a little as he sat on the ground, on one side of his low table. “These days <em>I</em> can only do so much,” he said quietly.</p><p>Poe leaned in. “My father told me all about you. Your adventures. I never thought I would get to meet you in person.”</p><p>Tekka nodded. “I’ve traveled. And I have traveled too far and seen too much to ignore the anguish and despair rising in the galaxy. Something must be done. Whatever the cost, whatever the danger. People everywhere must fight fear and find hope, or there will be no balance in the Force, and the dark side will overwhelm the galaxy.” He produced a small leather sack and placed it in Poe’s palm, covering it with both his warm hands. A blessing. “Would that I could do more. But this will begin to make things right.”</p><p>Poe inhaled. “How did you <em>find</em> this? The general has been after it a long time.”</p><p>The old man merely smiled, and leaned forwards, as if sharing a secret. “General? To me, she is royalty.”</p><p>Poe’s whole posture seemed to light up. “That she certainly is. But not to her face, sir.”</p><p>He was about to elaborate when there was screech of binary, and an orange and white blur careened into the tent. BB-8 barely stopped in time to avoid the table, kicking up sand and burbling in alarm.</p><p>“We’ve got company.” Poe was up and out the door with his quadnoculars before Tekka could respond. “It’s the First Order,” said Poe, as Tekka came up behind him. “You have to hide.”</p><p>“You have to leave,” said Tekka firmly.</p><p>Poe looked towards the edge of the village, where his X-Wing was hidden behind a short dune, and back. “Sir--”</p><p>“You have a mission! Go! I will see to the defense of my village.” He turned away towards the center of the village, not looking back.</p><p>Poe hesitated a moment longer, then whirled and raced towards the far end of the village, BB-8 rolling after him. Stern-faced villagers passed him as he ran, going the opposite direction, already armed.</p><p>“Come on, BB-8, hurry!” Poe could hear blaster fire. He slid down the short dune that hid his X-Wing, jumped in the cockpit and slammed the controls as BB-8 rolled into copiloting position. Instrumentation flared to life as he got his good look at the enemy on the ground. Bipedal shapes in glistening white armor marching towards the village defenders.</p><p>Stormtroopers!</p><p>Poe cursed. The First Order was getting bold -if news of this reached the Galactic Senate, Leia would have the proof she needed of the First Order military build-up she’d been warning about for years. But it would come at the cost of innocent lives. No matter how well-armed the villagers were, they weren’t going to stand a chance.</p><p>All this firepower to find the whereabouts of one man. Or to make sure the knowledge was lost forever.</p><p>There was a stream of electronic anxiety from the droid.</p><p>“Yeah we’re going, BB-8, we’re going!” One of the troop ships was uncomfortably close. He thumbed another control. “Lets hope stormtroopers don’t have peripheral vision,” he said under his breath. Landing lights snapped on as engines whined to life. Thirty seconds, and then...</p><p>“Blast that X-Wing! Over there, over there!” The ship shook. BB-8 shrieked and burbled.</p><p>“I see ‘em!” said Poe, hitting the controls for the pivoting gun. It dropped from the belly of the ship, and he aimed at the troopers who’d spotted him, and fired. The explosion took care of anything that was in range. No time for celebration. Poe flicked a switch, and groaned.</p><p>Starfighter engines were not supposed to make that sound. Poe canceled the launch sequence, popped the canopy, and clambered out.</p><p>Poe looked at the ruined engine, and over the top of the craft towards the glow of fire in the village, and swallowed hard. He pulled out the leather bag he had received from Tekka, dumped the small artifact into his hand, and knelt in front of BB-8, who'd rolled up behind him. It glittered in his fingers.</p><p>“You take this,” said Poe, pressing the object –an old-fashioned star map-- into one of BB-8’s carrying slots. “It’s safer with you than it is with me. You get as <em>far</em> from here as you can, you hear me?” BB-8 beeped a question.</p><p>Poe stood. “I’ll come back for you.” He glanced towards the village, and then back down at BB-8. His hand was already on his blaster. “It’ll be all right.”</p><p>Poe could make anyone believe anything, at least for a little while, and even an astromech droid as loved as BB-8 couldn’t disobey a direct order. The little round droid turned and fled.</p>
<hr/><p>Poe crept around his disabled X-wing, up the short ridge of dirt and sand that sheltered it, blaster in hand.</p><p>There!</p><p>One shot managed to hit one trooper in an armor joint. Another hit a trooper in the foot, bringing him down. Poe shifted his aim, hitting another trooper square on.</p><p>The whine of a landing shuttle, like the screech of a dark bird of prey, sounded overhead. Poe rolled away, out of its flight path, heading left around the village towards the village’s moisture collector. If there was a last stand, if Lor San Tekka would be anywhere, it would be there.</p><p>The last trooper Poe had shot only had time to let out a whumph of surprise. Staying low, the trooper next to him managed to grab the injured soldier before he went all the way down. They stared at each other. The injured trooper reached out a hand, softly, dazed; their bloody fingers poking through the black gloves. Instead of the living face of a comrade, they touched the faceless barrier of the other stormtrooper’s helmet, smearing it with a stripe of red. On the threshold of death, it didn’t matter who was there with you, only that you were not alone. The hand fell back.</p><p>There was no assistance to be rendered here.</p><p>Chaos reigned – screams, smoke, blaster fire, buildings set aflame.</p><p>This was nothing like they’d been told in training. FN-2187 stood and staggered towards the center of the village, leaving Slip behind for the first and only time.</p>
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